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in the halls of valhalla;

Björn paces impatiently. How could he not? He had seen the subtle changes in Nya and knew that the time drew near. With each passing day she had grown more and more distant, seeking out solitude instead of staying near to him and the herd. And when she had dissapeared into the dark jungle, his instincts had alerted him that it was time.

So now he paces, desperately trying to keep his fears and worries at bay. But it was not working, he still glances into the dark jungle his worry contorting his bald face. What if she needs him? With a huff and a swish of his dark tail, he follows after her just as the sun dips to caress the horizon. The heavens erupt into brilliant colors, pale pinks and brilliant oranges streak across the sky. Her scent lingers on the wafting breeze so it easy enough for him to follow his dear Nya as she plunges deeper into the jungle. As dusk deepens, the urgency begins to rise and he can fill a quickening of his heart as her scent grows ever stronger.

"Sio,"

The anxiety rises, and his heart thunders louder in his twitching ears. Doubt clouds his mind. What if ends up like his father? He halts just as he is about to discover Nya, the scent of birth floods his flaring nostrils. She is just beyond the thick jungle foliage, with their child. A single muscle twitches beneath his smoky hide, and the fear rises in his belly. His father had left him behind... He had never been there to support, nor raise his son. Björn swallows hard and with a sigh, he steps through the foliage.

She stands there, exhaustion written across her delicate and beautifully chiseled face. His gaze lingers on her for a brief moment before falling to their foal who lies in a heap on his soft bed of grass. Björn's breath sucks in sharply. He dares to take a step closer, his glacial eyes dart over the strange markings of their son. A sign of good fortune from the gods, surely.

He closes the distance between Nya and himself, pressing his body against hers and touches the delicate curve of her neck. SPEECH he says with a proud lift his head. Their son is strong, and handsomely marked.

It is strange. This world is cold and uncomfortable. He lays in a heap at the hooves of his mother, unable to move except for the flaring of his delicate pink nostrils. He blinks but everything is still blurry. A soft nicker leaves his lips, but it is subtle and barely audible. He lays there for minutes, just sniffing and blinking his wide blue eyes, as bit by bit his vision clears. He looks up to find the face of his mother, as she gently cleans him and runs her tongue across his smoky gray, white, and black baby fuzz. He sighs contently, as the shivering seizes, but a grumbling sound comes from his belly.